


Tricolore

by wasabiandi



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: I have purposely avoided tagging it so that it won't fall in the wrong hands, If you do not like please do not read, M/M, VAGUE BUT OBVIOUS
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-24
Updated: 2019-06-24
Packaged: 2020-05-18 23:32:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19344925
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wasabiandi/pseuds/wasabiandi
Summary: "He could make the quietest, most chaste girl a sobbing disarray with a flick of the wrist, and he prided himself in it. After all, it was a game he had mastered the controls of, so when it came to him being the board – he was lost. "PLEASE DO NOT READ IF YOU ARE UNCOMFORTABLE WITH ITACEST(xSeborga).





	Tricolore

**Author's Note:**

> I can NOT stress that enough! This is the last warning on here: Your wellbeing comes first so please do not read on if you cannot handle/do not like Itacest.

An Italian’s hands are always warm and loving, no matter the ill intentions they may seek. They’re coaxing, manipulating, and _oh_ so talented.

Seborga wasn’t used to being kneaded with another Italian man’s hands, but he knew how the game worked. How to relax muscles, how to caress with feather soft touches, how to bring the most innocent girls to pools of sweat, heat, and sin. He could make the quietest, most chaste girl a sobbing disarray with a flick of the wrist, and he prided himself in it. After all, it was a game he had mastered the controls of, so when it came to him being the board – he was lost.

He was entranced by the caresses down his thighs, the slender hands of an artist manoeuvring his body like clay. Small hands that fondled in ways they simply shouldn’t.

He was utterly spellbound by the lips kissing the pulse in his neck. Lips that he was so used to being crude, always shaped in a snarl. A tongue that normally spat the most vindictive criticisms, lovingly tracing small expansions of freckled skin.

It was sinful, and he wanted more.

They treated him like a virgin, as if he was new and fragile. As if porcelain, an antique meant to be cherished by hands that weren’t theirs. Everything seemed picture perfect, Seborga was sure he was a sight to see, at the very least a delicacy his brother's so readily wanted.

Words were spoken, but nothing reached his ears - taunts, Seborga was certain, but he didn’t pay them any mind. Not when he felt the pressure just under his jaw, a little nibble, and then released. A mark of their sin - a branding, probably.

Veneziano giggled, and sat up to stretch like a kitten, hands firmly pressed against Seborga's pecs as if to show off. His thudding heart was loud, vivid, and Seborga couldn't help but whine at the arousal washing over his body. He met his brothers eye, and decided then that the way Veneziano looked at him would be the end of him. The childish face was too much, honey brown eyes open, watching, and his nose crinkled as if repressing a laugh. It was so much like Veneziano, and yet so foreign.

There’s a soft, foreign expression on Romano’s face too, and Seborga now knows just how he inspired so many paintings. He knew his body was a chiseled masterpiece already, and his grin - as rare as it was - was stunning. But he was flawless in that moment, looking down on Seborga with the expression of a martyr, a small smile on his lips, and a gentle quirk in his brow. His hand caressed, thumb pressed to the sinful little mark he left - he looked proud.

Seborga always wanted to make him proud.

**Author's Note:**

> If you wish to find me, my [Tumblr](https://wasabi-draws.tumblr.com) is as following.


End file.
